While I have thoroughly enjoyed the Americana project and hope to continue it, I am going to be starting a project on the side.

Let me first cite Mechaman as something of a mentor for this type of thread. While this is going to significantly different from the Westman Timeline, I cannot deny that he was a trailblazer in this regard.

I would also like to thank Kalwejt for all of his activity on the What-if board. In the past, greats like Lahbas, hcallega and Historico were around, and they have left large shoes to fill. I think he and several others have done much to try and fill those shoes. I would also like to give a shout-out to Cathcon, Feeblepizza, Barnes, and the entire Americana crew for being a great team to work with. I hope we continue to do so whenever our little break ends.

Anyway, I am not entirely sure where I am going with this thread, but I know how I will be starting. I will be incorporating fictional characters, but will not be using anybody's character unless they specifically ask. To put it in one way... I am in "unchartered territory." I hope everybody enjoys the ride.

Thad G. O’Connor was born on September 8th in Eastport, Maine, as the only child to a fisherman and a homemaker. The O’Connor family descended from the renowned Senator James Blaine, a presidential candidate and power-player in Maine, but was indistinguishable from any other working class family in the Pine Tree state. Thad’s mother, Anna Blaine, scion of the political dynasty, married a crippled fisherman named Shaun O’Connor. Anna, being something of a reluctant Republican, soon changed her registration upon marrying Shaun, an ardent Democrat, though their son would not inherit his registration like his parents had.

Thad O’Connor went to school and was fairly unremarkable, except in regard to his serious composure and introversion. He would seldom answer questions, but generally was correct when called on, and usually played alone after school. In his later years, he became more of a “problem student” but generally never drew attention to himself, and his grades took a dive, though this was due to problems at home with his father.

Shaun O’Connor was an amateur fisherman by day, his left arm far too crippled from a factory accident to continue his family’s ancestral trade of factory work. In 1959, amidst a tepid economy, Shaun safeguarded against poverty by employing his young son to aid him after school. However, Thad was frequently tardy, being loath to work after school in “smelly” fishing. He cast his lure wrong and was, overall, inept. Shaun would scold Thad but it would only worsen things. One particular incident arose in which Thad, having been an hour late for the job, arrived only to have the bait bucket thrown at him and was doused in worms. Things would occasionally come to blows at the house, but Thad’s mother would never intervene, and Shaun’s relationship with his son would only grow worse over the years.I will only be doing a few of these to clue people in on some of Thad's history. It'll stop getting boring soon.

Thad’s relationship with his father cooled when he became sixteen. He worked frequently, though with a half-hearted attempt, but the two rarely spoke to each other except when necessary. They seemed to have drawn an uneasy peace, though it later turned out to be the eye of the storm, when the 1964 presidential election kicked off.

“I would remind you that extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice! I would also remind you that moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue!” the words rang from the 1964 Republican National Convention, given by none other than the Republican nominee, Barry Goldwater, a man of the West. In his earlier life, Thad never cared for politics, and knew nothing of it besides his father’s ramblings. Thad’s father, a Stevenson man, took any opportunity he could to hop on his proverbial soapbox for “taking a shot at the Big Guy” or “knocking down the rich blue bloods.” Thad found him to be painfully trite, as if his father was a character in a bad play. Much later in his life, Thad realized his own political views formed mostly in revulsion to this, but was comfortable with them anyway.

Living in a state that Nixon carried handily, Thad was enthusiastic to volunteer for Goldwater. However, with the Chairman of the Eastport Republicans having endorsed Lyndon Johnson, along with most of the committee, Thad was left with only a handful of companions during the campaign. Coupled with Margaret Chase Smith’s meek support of Goldwater, (save for one or two appearances in ads) Thad could sense a Democratic tidal wave on the horizon.

Despite the Democratic landslide in 1964, Thad remained an ardent conservative in the mold of his mentor, especially concerning defense. Fearfully recalling Kruschev’s “We will bury you!” Thad set out to join the military in ’66. Not too long later, he would find himself in ‘Nam.

Thad O’Connor set off to go to ‘Nam. It was the last time he’d ever speak to his mother, or his father.

Thad found the military to be much different than how it had been romanticized in books and movies. Thad found boot camp to be particularly degrading, as his drill sergeant was the quintessential G.I. Joe hard-ass later portrayed in the movie Full Metal Jacket. He also felt that, between the fatigues, crew cuts, and “speak when spoken to” attitude had promoted a collectivist uniformity of thought that sat poorly with him, though he refused to let it impede his service.

While overseas, Thad had separated the scarce amount of wheat from the chaff in his platoon. His name was Max Anderson, a fellow private hailing from Missouri. Max wound up in the military under different circumstances – he had been selected by the draft, or as he put it, “the lottery no one wants to win.” Thad established a friendship with Max rather frequently. They watched each other’s backs during patrols, shared bunks, smoked pot, and talked about what a dick the platoon leader was. Thad told himself he would be friends with Max well after their service, but a tragic event on the horizon would dash these hopes.

Thad had been in Indochina for a little over a year, but had never seen any real danger. Nothing more than a few skirmishes here or there, and only a handful of his squad members had died. Today, however, would prove to be a watershed moment in Thad’s life.

It was a humid spring day in the jungles of South Vietnam. Thad’s Captain, James Howell, a brash and reckless man, had received a letter from a Vietcong-held village near the border of Cambodia. Uneasy in the face of mounting casualties, they offered to defect and had offered arms in exchange for amnesty. Max had been wary of it. “There’s just no damn reason for them to stick their necks out when they’re still within a stone’s throw of the Cong.” Howell, however, eager to gain recognition and hadn’t consulted his superiors.

Thad and several units, numbering at about seventy-three, encroached upon the village that looked to have no more than a few hundred people, yet as they got closer and eventually entered the village it looked as if it had more huts than people. Thad held onto his M14 nervously as the squads converged towards the center of the village, before finally spotting a few villagers, though only women and children. “Split up into your squads,” said Howell, “and start investigating some of these huts. We were supposed to meet the defectors here.”

Thad had just turned his head to see Max Anderson follow the Captain into a larger building when the explosions of mortars rang through the air. Thad, like many of his fellow soldiers, scrambled to find cover for a few seconds, before running back to the structure that Max and the Captain had gone into. The structure had failed to sustain the blast and it was collapsing rather quickly, the flames created by the explosion devouring it. Thad rushed to rescue the two despite the flurry of bullets and shuffling of feet.

Thad easily pulled out Howell, who immediately rushed to his feet and started barking out orders. Max Anderson, however, would prove to be a different case. He was sufficiently covered in rubble, only emerging right below his breast. “I’m not going to be able to make it…” he uttered, before letting out a hacking cough. “I think my leg is broken… and my body is too crushed by this sh**t.” “Damn it Max, don’t do this to me!” Thad protested, but to no avail. Thad gripped Max’s hand tightly to show solidarity as Max passed out. It would be the last time they spoke.

Thad turned his attention to the struggle that had beset his fellow soldiers. Over a dozen had been killed, including Howell, and the unit had mostly dissolved into chaos. A blind rage had possessed Thad, and he exhibited a sort of leadership he never had before. His beleaguered force managed to rendezvous quickly, and though it was pell-mell, the Vietcong fled. Overcome by rancor, Thad (as assumed leader) ordered the eight remaining soldiers to burn the village. Thad would later block out these memories, and it would be recorded that he rescued a fellow soldier. He would be awarded a bronze star, though it offered no solace for the scars that had been engrained on him. Thad, nor his views, would ever be quite the same.

(Alright, this entry was a bit winded and dramatic. Let me know if anybody finds it to be a bit "much", although this is probably the only post that will be that "action-packed.")

Thad had been in Indochina for a little over a year, but had never seen any real danger. Nothing more than a few skirmishes here or there, and only a handful of his squad members had died. Today, however, would prove to be a watershed moment in Thad’s life.

It was a humid spring day in the jungles of South Vietnam. Thad’s Captain, James Howell, a brash and reckless man, had received a letter from a Vietcong-held village near the border of Cambodia. Uneasy in the face of mounting casualties, they offered to defect and had offered arms in exchange for amnesty. Max had been wary of it. “There’s just no damn reason for them to stick their necks out when they’re still within a stone’s throw of the Cong.” Howell, however, eager to gain recognition and hadn’t consulted his superiors.

Thad and several units, numbering at about seventy-three, encroached upon the village that looked to have no more than a few hundred people, yet as they got closer and eventually entered the village it looked as if it had more huts than people. Thad held onto his M14 nervously as the squads converged towards the center of the village, before finally spotting a few villagers, though only women and children. “Split up into your squads,” said Howell, “and start investigating some of these huts. We were supposed to meet the defectors here.”

Thad had just turned his head to see Max Anderson follow the Captain into a larger building when the explosions of mortars rang through the air. Thad, like many of his fellow soldiers, scrambled to find cover for a few seconds, before running back to the structure that Max and the Captain had gone into. The structure had failed to sustain the blast and it was collapsing rather quickly, the flames created by the explosion devouring it. Thad rushed to rescue the two despite the flurry of bullets and shuffling of feet.

Thad easily pulled out Howell, who immediately rushed to his feet and started barking out orders. Max Anderson, however, would prove to be a different case. He was sufficiently covered in rubble, only emerging right below his breast. “I’m not going to be able to make it…” he uttered, before letting out a hacking cough. “I think my leg is broken… and my body is too crushed by this sh**t.” “Damn it Max, don’t do this to me!” Thad protested, but to no avail. Thad gripped Max’s hand tightly to show solidarity as Max passed out. It would be the last time they spoke.

Thad turned his attention to the struggle that had beset his fellow soldiers. Over a dozen had been killed, including Howell, and the unit had mostly dissolved into chaos. A blind rage had possessed Thad, and he exhibited a sort of leadership he never had before. His beleaguered force managed to rendezvous quickly, and though it was pell-mell, the Vietcong fled. Overcome by rancor, Thad (as assumed leader) ordered the eight remaining soldiers to burn the village. Thad would later block out these memories, and it would be recorded that he rescued a fellow soldier. He would be awarded a bronze star, though it offered no solace for the scars that had been engrained on him. Thad, nor his views, would ever be quite the same.

(Alright, this entry was a bit winded and dramatic. Let me know if anybody finds it to be a bit "much", although this is probably the only post that will be that "action-packed.")

Nah dog, this isn't that dramatic.Then again considering this comment comes from the guy that brought you "The America that Never Was"..........maybe you should wait to see what CathCon thinks.